SLAPPED!

(Two men—GUY and WALT SPINDLEMAN, who is holding a briefcase—are standing next to each other, waiting for the train.)

GUY
You there.

WALT
Yes? Do you mean me?

GUY
Yeah, you. You’re the only one here, aren’t you? Do you got the time?

WALT
Yes.

GUY
What is it?

WALT
It is a quarter to six.

GUY
Oh, goddammit! I’m late, I’m late. Goddammit.

(GUY continues worrying.)

WALT
You are welcome.

GUY
Heh?

WALT
For giving you the time.

GUY
Yeah-yeah, whatever.

WALT
It is not “whatever”. In polite society we thank people for services, no matter how small.

GUY
Goddammit, I’m late. Goddammit. When’s this train gonna get here?

(GUY continues to worry. A short while passes as the two men face opposite directions. Suddenly, WALT slaps GUY in the face.)

GUY
Ow.

WALT
I beg your pardon?

GUY
You just slapped me!

WALT
I did?

GUY
Yes, you just hit me!

WALT
Are you sure it was me that slapped you?

GUY
Oh course it was you. We’re the only ones here.

WALT
Are you sure it was me?

GUY
Yes, I’m sure.

WALT
Hmm. Nope. I don’t see it.

GUY
See what?

WALT
I just don’t see me slapping you.

GUY
You did! You did slap me!

WALT
I’m sorry, but it’s just not possible.

GUY
How could you not know you slapped me? You were standing right there! You were right here when it happened!

WALT
(thinking)
Still.

GUY
Apologize to me!

WALT
For what?

GUY
For slapping me.

WALT
I shall make no apologies for a crime I did not commit.

GUY
You did commit it!

WALT
What proof have you got?

GUY
Proof? The only proof I need is knowing you slapped me.

WALT
Hm, I’m afraid that’s not good enough. That would not hold in a court of law. I should know: my brother-in-law's a lawyer.

GUY
I don’t care if it holds up in a court or if your brother-in-law's a goddam Saint Bernard. I want you to apologize right now!

WALT
I think you’re a little traumatized from being manhandled by a small slap and are remembering things differently. And, by the way, I think my sister would care very much if he were a Saint Bernard. Besides, even if I did slap you—which I most definitely did not—it would not be my fault.

GUY
What do you mean “not [your] fault”?

WALT
I mean just that. I have this condition which causes sporadic spastic twitching in this arm. Usually it simply causes my arm to jump a few inches, but once in a while, when I’m feeling particularly angry (like just now when you refused to thank me for giving you the time), it slaps people across the face.

GUY
You mean you’ve actually slapped people because of this?

WALT
Oh yes, numerous times. I’d say close to fifty by now.

GUY
Fifty!

WALT
Yes, fifty.

GUY
You’ve slapped fifty innocent people without knowing it?

WALT
I’m sure not all those people were innocent. I have met some rather rowdy individuals in my life time, I’ll have you know. Yes, now, I am certain for a fact there has been at least five uninnocent people I’ve slapped in my life.

GUY
Don’t they get mad?

WALT
Oh no, not at all. Yes, I usually explain to them my condition and then about the other people I’ve slapped. Knowing they are not the only ones to be mistreated seems to comfort them very much.

GUY
Just like that they’re not mad?

WALT
Yes, quite so.

GUY
What about the first guy?

WALT
I beg your pardon?

GUY
I mean, there must have been a first guy you slapped, right? Didn’t he get mad because he was the only one you’ve slapped before?

WALT
I assure you, there was no first man.

GUY
What do you mean?

WALT
My good sir, you don’t think I’d be so rude as to have a first man, do you?

GUY
What?

WALT
I’ve always slapped close to fifty people—no more, no less.

GUY
What the hell does that mean?

WALT
It means you’re the fiftieth or so person today I’ve slapped, if I did, in fact, slap you—which I did not—that’s been close to the fiftieth person I’ve ever slapped.

(GUY remains silent and confused. WALT slaps GUY again.)

GUY
Ow, what the hell was that?

WALT
What was what?

GUY
You just slapped me again!

WALT
This is all getting a little preposterous, don’t you think?

GUY
What the hell! I thought it was THIS arm that did the slapping?

WALT
How did you know they switch sometimes?

GUY
They switch!

WALT
Yes, that’s right. Sometimes it’s one arm, sometimes it’s the other; other times it’s neither, a few times it’s both.

GUY
Both!

WALT
Yes, that’s right.

GUY
How could it be both, then one, then the other, then none?

WALT
(laughing)
My good sir, I don’t presume to be a doctor. I am a business man by trade.

GUY
Look, are you gonna apologize for both times or not?

WALT
My good sir, you have yet to produce a fragment of evidence that I’ve slapped you a first time; stacking the claim I’ve slapped you a second time is simply ridiculousness at its most pleasurable. Besides, my arm twitch is a debilitating medical condition I am forced to live with. I shall make no apologies to that which I cannot control. I might as well apologize for the rain or sunshine.

GUY
Why don’t you just get an operation? You look rich enough. Or hell, just keep your hands in your pockets.

WALT
(indignant)
Keep my hands in my pockets! Like some sort of chim-panzee or monkey in a zoo?

GUY
Monkeys don’t even have—

WALT
I’ve never heard such a proposal! And as for an operation, I choose not to because my doctors tell me I will lose all feeling in my arms if I undergo surgery. Now tell me, what kind of operation is that? One where you are left worse afterward? What kind of quality of life would I have then? Hm? Put them in my pockets. Hhm!

GUY
(bashful)
Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.

WALT
I should think you damn well should be.

GUY
Well, I damn well am!

WALT
That didn’t sound sincere.

GUY
I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. It’s just…I’ve got a lot on my mind right now. Stuff that’s been driving me crazy, like it’s been pulling my skin right off me.

WALT
Like what? Tell me.

GUY
Like, well, uh, my wife…she’s, um…she’s, uh, going…

WALT
She’s leaving you.

GUY
No, no. She’s, um…she’s, uh…going…uh. Yes. Yes, she’s leaving me.

WALT
I see.

GUY
And now the whole house is a mess, and plus she wants everything that belongs to me. Like, for instance, my great-great-grandfather’s chessboard. It’s been in my family since the Civil War! I was actually on my way to an arrangement at the courthouse.

WALT
Divorce is never easy. Through our darkest times we must always cling to the light, and that soft bird of hope “That perches in the soul.” Emily Dickinson was brilliant, wasn’t she?

GUY
I guess you’re right. Hey, wait! You slapped me, and still haven’t apologized!

WALT
Why should I apologize?

GUY
Because you slapped me in the face—twice!

WALT
I did not! And even if I did—which I did not—it would be due to unavoidable medical reasons, I assure you.

GUY
Medical reasons my left ass and foot.
(GUY turns around. WALT looks the other direction as his foot kicks GUY in the butt.)
Ow! What the hell’s your problem!

WALT
Excuse me?

GUY
You just kicked me in the ass!

WALT
Please, do not start again. I do not know how you know about the spastic twitch in my legs, but please, I do not wish to continue listening to your wild accusations.


GUY
Wild accusations! Spastic twitch in your legs?

WALT
Yes. The spastic twitch in my upper-body sometimes switches to my lower-body. Didn’t you know that?

GUY
(GUY raises his fists.)
Okay, that’s it. C’mon, right now!

WALT
I assure you, I do not wish to fight.

GUY
I assure you I’m gonna punch you in the face!

(GUY throws a punch. WALT dodges. WALT begins to flail his arms and legs.)

WALT
My arms and legs! They’re convulsing into a fighting kung-fu stance.
(WALT’s limbs stop flailing as he settles into fighting stance.)

GUY
I don’t care if they convulse into pink shoes! I’m gonna beat your ass!

(GUY releases a battle cry. WALT follows with his. They charge. Both fists make contact with their intended targets. GUY and WALT are knocked unconscious simultaneously.

Sometime later, GUY stirs and sits up. Seeing WALT’s unconscious body, he crawls and leans over him.)

GUY
(laughing)
I guess I kicked your ass, didn’t I Mr. Kung-Fu? Told ya I would, didn’t I Mr. Twitchy Arms? I guess this makes us even now, doesn’t it Mr. Spastic Legs? That’ll teach you to mess with a real man, won’t it Mr…What is your name?
(GUY checks the nametag on WALT’s briefcase.)
Walt Spindleman. You want to know what a real man is, Walt? A real man don’t take nothing from no one; real men drink beer and win fights; real men don’t have spastic twitches that sometimes switch arms and even legs; real men get what they—
(WALT’s hand flies up and slaps GUY.)
--deserve.

END OF PLAY